


Sway

by The_Peridot_Writer



Category: Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-21 20:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17649155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Peridot_Writer/pseuds/The_Peridot_Writer
Summary: After a rocky start, Claude fixes the error of his ways and discovers what Esmeralda truly has to offer besides her body.





	1. Chapter 1

**Sway**

**Summary: After a rocky start, Claude fixes the error of his ways and discovers what Esmeralda truly has to offer besides her body.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunchback of Notre-Dame or any of its plots and characters. This is simply for entertainment purposes. All rights belong to Disney and Victor Hugo.**

**Song: Sway by Dean Martin**

_When Marimba rhythms start to play_

_Dance with me, make me sway_

_Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore_

_Hold me close, sway me more_

            Esmeralda paced back and forth within the rather large bedchambers. The door was locked, the key being held by someone else, keeping her hostage. Her hands trembled as she waited, a vile thought forming in her head, the familiar vision nauseating her. She was used to the constant nightmares and visions that would haunt her and despite all attempts to push them back, they grew with the anxiety that threatened to consume her and pull her into the darkness.

            For weeks, she continued on within the same sequence. She would wake with Frollo next to her. He would leave to change and prepare his office for the day. She would be expected to be at the dining hall for breakfast within the time of mere minutes. She would then be locked in her room for most of the day. The only way she would be able to know what time it was was by the thunder of the bells of Notre-Dame, signaling that the next hour has arrived and confirming the previous hour spent in captivity.

            The Gypsy Queen swore as each hour passed by, the bells will ring further and further apart. The time she remained in solitude was dull, uneventful, and mind-numbingly boring and half the time she was close to have a mental breakdown, as though her sanity was dripping away and she didn’t have much left to give. She would spend most of her day gazing upon the people of Paris, memorizing certain people’s routines depending on whether or not they were seen often. She would watch couples chat, kiss, hug, walk hand in hand. A young child helping his elderly grandmother, she would watch the children scurrying past and their mothers following, threatening them with a baguette in their hands. That was what Esmeralda found most amusing.

            Occasionally, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Clopin and her eyes, her heart, everything but her voice screamed out for him to rescue her from her prison. She wouldn’t dare scream. Not only would it be useless but also it would attract Frollo’s attention and his anger and she needed neither. But despite the absurdity of it, she continued to silently cry out for help.

            Seven. The bells struck seven times. That indicated the time when the foreboding fear set in and on cue, his footsteps could be heard and her sense became sharper as his footsteps came closer. She would tremble, pray, silently cry at times depending on how helpless, how weak she felt that day. Hell, sometimes when she felt the fear claim her, she would begin contemplating whether or not it was worth it to give up her dignity and plead for mercy as though he was God Himself, standing above her to judge her wrong doing and no matter what she did, despite how good it was, to be condemned with the same decision of damnation. But as the door swung open like every other day for the past two months, nothing of the sort occurred. Well, she didn’t beg but he did stand over her and as she came face to face with Claude Frollo, she was struck motionless.


	2. Chapter 2

_Like a flower bending in the breeze_

_Bend with me, sway with ease_

_When we dance, you have a way with me_

_Stay with me, sway with me_

            “Don’t move!” Claude barked at her as soon as she felt herself regain her footing only to freeze up again, doing as she was told. This was normal, expected. But what followed was becoming less so with each day that passed. The last few days had been bizarre, deviating. In bed, he was no longer rough or harsh, no longer truly thinking about him and what pleasure he could give himself but rather what he could offer to her. It was almost as though he experienced as epiphany of some sort. While Esmeralda was deeply grateful to whatever higher power there might be, if there was one, she remained wary, cautious around him all the same.

            As she thought about it and considered his change of motives, she began to wonder if maybe she was being too cautious, delusional perhaps. No. Not delusional. Ludicrous. There it was. But every time that thought sprang up, she was reminded where she was and who she was dealing with. She was trapped, imprisoned. She had been raped, abused, and held captive. She had every right to remain on guard, no matter how much good and though he was putting into his actions.

            Despite his commands, she allowed her legs to carry her back in fear even though they trembled horribly beneath her. The minister approached, mirroring the steps and she found herself trapped between the stone wall and the one keeping her imprisoned. “Please,” he murmured, his tone not nearly holding as much venom as before towards her. He now pressed his body against hers, leaning down to her ear. “Do not be afraid. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. She shuddered unwillingly against him. She felt her stomach lurch when he placed a cold hand on her neck, his fingers wrapping around it but he placed next to no pressure on it. All the same, it was unwelcomed as he trailed his fingers down her skin of her neck, upper chest, the valley of her breasts before resting on her abdomen. He reached beneath the Gypsy Queen, undoing the ties from her dress while her emerald eyes squeezed shut.

            His hand halted suddenly, his work ceasing. He rested his hands on her sides, neglecting the undone ties on the back of her dress. “Esmeralda,” he whispered. Her eyes remained closed in disgust, waves of fear crashing down on her despite the gentle tone his voice had. She didn’t trust it. Maybe her actions and thoughts were indeed on the verge of being ludicrous or had already reached it. Well, so be it. Her thoughts were interrupted at the assault of his voice. “Esmeralda, open your eyes. Look at me, please.” His voice was almost at the edge of begging.

            Fear of his short temper and brutal hand, she eventually obliged to his command, her green orbs opening as she connected them with Claude’s. He raised a cold hand to her cheek, gradually as to not frighten her any further. Perhaps it was too late due to the rigidness of her body.

            She silently scoffed as she became aware of what he was attempting to succeed through his actions. A bit too late for that, so it seemed. After everything that had occurred? He literally burned down the entirety of Paris in order to obtain her. He threatened lives and killed hundreds, perhaps even thousands of her people. Slaughtered, tortured under his hand. His hand. The bastard’s hand.

            “I know what you’re thinking,” he sighed, his eyes containing something she never figured she’d see from a man like him. Was it guilt? Regret? Sorrow? She looked deeper into his eyes and her own widened in surprise. Pain. It was excruciating pain, as if his very soul was tormented, screaming for help, for some type of relief. Any form. And then there was the fear. The unmistakable emotion reared its ugly face yet again but it no longer belonged to the gypsy and was not conjured up by the minister. It belonged to him. The man who struck the emotion into so many people, including her and her people. Especially her people.

            Esmeralda saw the pain and the fear and it was familiar to her. Because of him. The son of a bitch who created so much heartache. So much pain, suffering, and death. He controlled Paris like a vengeful, merciless god, capable of evil, only evil without a single ounce of remorse for any of his actions. And what he brought down upon many, he was now experiencing. And that was what she hated. She felt for the man. She related to him but the reason she did was because of him. He was the cause for all the misery in her life. And now she didn’t have a clue on how she should proceed.

            She thought about leaving him to suffer and it quickly became her final decision. That is, until he began to speak. Not only his voice but his words, his syllables held such great pain, begging for mercy. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing pitifully. “Forgive me,” he mumbled into his hands. “Forgive me. My love, forgive me. Forgive me for all I’ve done. All the suffering I have caused. Pity me, pity me. Love me. Accept me as yours as I want you as mine. Pity me, pity me. I give everything to you. You own me. My soul, my heart, my love. You own everything. Pity me, Esmeralda. Pity. Please, give me pity. That is all I ask. My soul cries for your warmth, for your love, for your kind and gentle soul. Forgive me… pity me…”

            She stared, not being able to d anything but that as she observed the blubbering, broken man bowing in front of her, beginning for her forgiveness, for her mercy. The Gypsy Queen knelt down in front of him, gathering Claude Frollo, the murderous bastard of a minister in her arms. The reason for her suffering, for her pain and for her terror. And she spoke in a low, gentle tone, much like a mother to a child. “I have no pity to give.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Other dancers may be on the floor_

_Dear but my eyes will see only you_

_Only you have the magic technique_

_When we sway I go weak_

            “Pity,” the judge helplessly reiterated. “Have you no pity?”

            “You are pitiable,” she mumbled into his white hair truthfully, her words carefully thought through, causing pauses between each word as she decided cautiously as not to strike a nerve to the vile man. “But I have no pity to give. You asked for three things. I am not God. I am not the one to give you mercy. For I will not do anything that requires it. So now, that gives me two things to give you. I give you the better of the two. You have earned my forgiveness but not my pity. I do not pity people.”

            The quick, scurried actions of him ripping himself out of her arms startled her, causing her to stumble and fall onto her back. Her breaths escaped her frantically, her heart thumping erratically against her ribs. With wide, uncertain eyes, she watched her every move, noticing the anger yet anguish rolling off of him, the aurora around him an array of emotions that confused even her. She managed to push herself upon shaky legs, leaning against the wall for support.

            “You-… You forgive me?” he inquired, now at the complete opposite side of the room as they stared each other down, both attentative and neither daring to move, not even in the slightest in fear of startling the other. She nodded mutely however, her body trembling from how quick the scene was unfolding in front of her. Their roles had been switched… or hers had been mirrored with Claude. The gypsy was no longer alone, struck with fear. So was he and both were pleading with each other.

            “I forgive you,” she managed to whimper out despite it being barely audible, the three words hanging in the air as the atmosphere around them thickened and she found herself having difficulty breathing properly. She felt trapped, bound, as if she was hanging from a cliff and one wrong move, one slip would send her plummeting to her death.

            He approached her now, taking tentative steps towards her. He gently placed his frigid hands on either side of her caramel cheeks. “You… forgive me…” he breathed before leaving in and placing an ever so gentle and tender kiss on her lips, careful not to be too harsh or rough as he kissed the delicate petals. His body needed to be close to hers. It needed the confirmation that it was allowed to be close. But he was taken aback by not only her not fighting or squirming but also reciprocating to his touch. Despite the fact it was barely evident, it still existed. There were traces of a kiss. And that response, however slight, sent him overboard. He deepened the kiss hungrily, as if trying to devour her, tasting her, savoring her and all her exquisite flavors. His granite eyes closed in bliss, pure contentment when she actually kissed back more, responding to the ferocity and eagerness of his actions. It left him breathless yet at the same time, leaving him wanting more, so much more. And in instinct, he grabbed her waist, not harshly yet not gently, placing a firm hand behind the back of her head, delving his tongue in deep to get a better taste. At the cry of protest from her, he let her go, letting the girl back away as opposed to before. He didn’t want to hurt her, something stopped him from persisting.

            “You responded,” he rasped out, attempting to regain control of his body and perhaps even soften his erection if he was lucky but he had been flushed against her so he doubted much that it was an option at that point.

            “I did,’ she mumbled, seemingly in disbelief herself. Part of her was screaming at her to stop, to run and not actually stay, that she was in danger but… the other part wanted to stay. And that was overpowering her.

            “Why did you-?” He couldn’t finish his sentence, entirely at lost for words.

            “I don’t know,” she responded truthfully, staring into his eyes before shrinking beneath him. She didn’t think truly, her mind foggy as she spoke again. “Maybe I do give pity.”

            At that statement, his eyes darkened in anger, giving Esmeralda the familiar feeling of paranoia for she knew that danger lurked very close when his steel gaze dimmed to granite. Her stomach dropped while her heart lept out of her throat, her throat tightening, threatening to allow fear to consume her. “You kissed me out of pity?!” Before she even realized what was unfolding, she was pressed up against the wall, a hold around her neck by a firm hand, causing her to turn pale with fear. The position was quite familiar but despite how many times she found herself in it, it wasn’t any less horrifying for her than the previous times. He grew more annoyed upon not receiving an answer. She couldn’t connect back to her body. It was paralyzed with pure terror. “Answer me, gypsy wench! Did you kiss me out of pity?!”

            A negative shake of the head and she was released, air rushing back to her lungs. She found herself in another familiar position, on her hands and knees, a hand covering her mouth to suppress her coughs. He watched her with confusion as she regained her breathing. “I kissed you because I wanted to,” she wheezed out. “I do not give out pity. It was a dry joke in bad taste,” she coughed. “I do not give out pity for I have none to give out. What I did was for a reason and not to mislead you,” she coughed hoarsely. “I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I needed to.”


	4. Chapter 4

_I can hear the sounds of violins_

_Long before it begins_

_Make me thrill as only you know how_

_Sway me smooth, sway me now_

            “Needed- needed to?” the older of the two stammered. “You needed to kiss me?”

            She nodded in confirmation, causing him to take a step back. “I needed to…” she mumbled, her voice uncertain, still being conscious over her word choice. Her hands shook as she looked up at him, studying his features, terrified of him acting upon anger.

            “You… You needed to… Then you must understand why I need to-…” He trailed off in uncertainty, causing her to watch in confusion and apprehension.

            “Need to…?” She silently gestured for him to continue.

            “To do this,” he finished quickly, rushing over, his fingers locking around her arms as he pressed her as firmly as he could against the wall without causing her any physical harm. He kissed her deeply, delving his tongue deep within her warm caverns of her mouth, making sure she had no way of leaving his tight embrace as he held her flush against him.

            She had kissed back as an immediate yet somehow unwanted reaction. She felt something hard against her inner thigh, the minister pressing his full weight of his body against hers. He heard not any cries of protest after his hold became more possessive and was only aware of her displeasure when she tried desperately to shove him off of her. He backed away, panting, his gray hairs falling out of place, his granite gaze wild with lust and want that he barely made out the disgust and fear palpable in her emerald eyes.

            “N-no,” she whimpered out when he took a step forward to her. “No!” She yelled and grabbed the key in his pocket, unlocking the door and rushing out, her bare feet hitting against the wood floor. She knew how ignorant the split second decision had been and the punishment that would surely follow but the gypsy could not think, fear taking over and willing her to go forward as she hurried down the stone steps. Each breath begun to hurt as a stitch formed on her side that grew but she had no time to rest for as soon as she managed to descend the stairs, she heard footfalls of the judge following her as she rushed through the horribly long corridors. She fell onto her knees after several minutes, beads of sweat rolling down her caramel skin as she panted, grasping her side with pain.

            Once she managed to regain her breath and the pain dwindled was when she took notice of the lack of the minister who should be cursing and beating her for running off against her wishes. At that thought, she remained on the floor, frozen with fear that he would appear. He didn’t.

            Upon noticing that, she stood fully on shaky legs, her emerald eyes darting around for any signs of her captor. Curiosity washed over her, causing her to look back at the corridor she had recently ran through. “Frollo?” She managed to whisper out. No sight of him, creating paranoia within her. “Frollo?” she repeated louder, her voice cracking at the last syllable. The doors to freedom were right there. She could leave and everything screamed at her to do so. But fear of what might occur if she did kept her still.

            “So the little vixen decided to stay?” His voice permeated through the silence. “I mean, I figured you would leave once I stopped my game of cat and mouse. I thought you would have taken the chance like the sneaky, unreliable whore you are,” he chuckled, the laugh dark.

            She ignored the names thrown at her, searching for a figure, a shadow, a silhouette. Anything to indicate his presence, to allow her to know if he was at arm’s length, if he could grab her before she could leave. She discovered nothing and began to head to the large doors of the Palace of Justice. Esmeralda stuck a trembling hand out, going to open the door, waiting, hesitating, expecting his cold, iron grip to grab her and throw her against the wall, for his thin body to press against hers, for him to roughly pull and tug her clothes off and take her once more. Nothing. None of that occurred and ceased to as she opened a door. She heard footsteps and stopped in her tracks, turning around and becoming rigid as she stared at the end of the hallway, meeting the minister’s gaze. He stood calm and reposed despite the anger swimming in his cold, granite gaze. He made no move to follow her. “You’re letting me go,” the gypsy spoke upon the realization that dawned on her.

            He nodded, confusing her and indorsing her to take a step forward so she could see him better to ensure that she saw correctly. “Take your leave. I will not pursue after you, nor will I harm your heathen brothers and sisters. Leave. Before I change my mind, gypsy.”

            She watched him before she left the palace without a second thought, running from him, from her family, from Paris without looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

_Other dancers may be on the floor_

_Dear, but my eyes will see only you_

_Only you have the magic technique_

_When we sway I go weak_

            Claude laid in bed, pulling his arms away from the woman they have been wrapped around. She came from the local brothel and she was the fourth woman that week that he had ordered his guards to receive. A gypsy, no less. But it had been three months since he last saw his prisoner. He had no idea she would actually leave Paris. He merely expected her to return to the streets, dancing for coins but word had spread that she ran off and left the entirety of the city. And he had, over fifty women, attempted to feel the same that he did with her. But to no avail. Each French, Italian, Spanish, Romanian, Bulgarian, gypsy woman left him more unsatisfied, more uptight and more angered than the last.

            Her kiss, her last kiss, her only willing kiss blazed in his mind still. It made him heat up more than any of the women when he was being intimate with them, caused his lips to tingle than any kiss that anyone else gave him despite the fact that it was a kiss three months old. But it was one he could not forget anytime soon. Her response felt so much better than anything he took or forced out of her. She had wanted it… She had… liked it.

            The minister got out of bed and went towards his other room that had once been a spare bedroom but now was what he called his own after nights similar to this, the thought of her kiss causing need to relieve the growing arousal much like every time he thought of it despite the pleasure that occurred in the previous bedroom. And as he relieved himself, his mind wandered over her features. Her stunning emerald eyes, obsidian hair so smooth, and her caramel skin so soft to the touch. The fragrance she held to her was pure euphoria when he took even the slightest of whiffs. He saw green eyes of many women, black hair and darker skin but they never compared to her. Her eyes were brighter, her hair darker, and her skin, the perfect shade that no one, not a single other person possessed. He was never aroused by any look a woman gave him, never felt his heart fluttering nor his stomach lurching when their gaze met his. He never went weak to his knees nor his heart melted when they spoke. Only she, she alone could evoke such weakness and emotions out of him. Only her.

            He finally ceased his actions, staring out the window as it rained. He pulled up his pants and pulled down his shirt, watching as a flash of lighting pushed the darkness away for a second, a low rumble of thunder following after. He chuckled softly when he remembered that Esmeralda was terrified of thunderstorms. He found it adorable. That little trait. But he had ridiculed her because of it, mocked her and he had saw the complete embarrassment as she had blushed and cried due to the mockery. She had become small and he could see her body tremble. He felt sick as he thought back to that. He frowned as he remembered that she shook next to him in bed every time there was a thunderstorm and he made no effort to comfort her, soothe her, and now, that was all he wanted to do. Be there for her. Protect her.

            But he had pushed her away, frightened her, hurt her. He had done so much to her. Destroyed her image, self-confidence, dignity, purity… He had assumed that she was no longer pure, that the purity was long gone but when she had cried out, screamed and only when he saw the blood did he realize how young, how pure she was. The girl was young as he would find out later, only sixteen, barely even a young adult. A child still. She held the nativity, eagerness and innocence as one. He should have felt revolted, sick at taking away her virtue at such an early age but he felt powerful, dominant, strong knowing that he took her virginity and therefore, that made her his. She belonged to him and no one else. He claimed her the moment his penetration caused the first drop of blood to roll down her leg.

            But as he now thought it over, he felt less than a man, less than a person in general. He felt sick, revolted and as those thoughts spurred in his mind, he threw up his dinner, collapsing against the mattress, sweat pouring down the sides of his face. He panted, clutching his stomach, his lustful thoughts of the gypsy leaving him entirely. “What have I done?” he asked aloud before throwing up again. “Maria,” he breathed. “Maria, forgive me. Forgive me. I am not worthy but forgive me.” He continued to pray breathlessly before he ripped off his shirt, now soaked with vomit and sweat, making him sicker.

            He eventually stood a while alter, heading into his own bedroom, silently thanking Maria that the woman had already taken her leave. He didn’t need to make a fool of himself in front of yet another woman. The minister had made himself a rather revolting reputation in addition to his horrid control but if one was desperate enough for money, they will look past that.

            As he stared into the mirror, he began to wonder what happened to him, where he went wrong. He kept getting sick, kept regretting everything he ever did to his love. If he could even call her that. She wasn’t his love. She would be his equal. He had treated her like a dog, even worse. And he despised it. He was desperate, frustrated, angry, and he just wished that he could take everything back and find a way to make her his without getting frightened of him or resenting him. And these thoughts kept spinning, reappearing, torturing him, causing him to allow a loud cry of bitter despair escape, the man of God throwing the contents of the room to the floor before he collapsed to the wooden ground, his head in his hands as he sobbed with regret.


	6. Chapter 6

_I can hear the sounds of violins_

_Long before it begins_

_Make me thrill as only you know how_

_Sway me smooth, sway me now_

            She was back home. And he knew for he would hear the tambourine in the distance whether he was at Notre-Dame or the Palace of Justice. She was seen dancing in the streets, entertaining the crowds of Paris daily. And he had not truly seen her. That was until one morning as it rained. Claude took a stroll through the streets, not expecting to see the young gypsy, merely wanting to clear his head. He heard the chants of the people. “La Esmeralda! La Esmeralda!” Claude absentmindedly followed the cries of the crowd, the sound of a tambourine ringing through the air, mixing with a familiar sound of an instrument that he had yet to name.

            He remained in the shadows of a corner, still managing to be granted a decent view of the one he lost. His heart clenched at the thought of no longer having her and it began to quicken as she finally entered the middle of the crowd, her goat following her much like a loyal dog. The dance began and the rain only added more to the sheer beauty of it.

            The minister stumbled back when she spotted him a few minutes later into her spectacular dance and she didn’t seem to think twice, or even think at all, as she practically flew over to him, her raven curls no longer in her pink ribbon but rather flowing freely, shining from the rain droplets that ran down. Her hair got noticeably longer and even darker. She was not in her gypsy attire that she was always seen in. Instead, it had been replaced with a green dress and a black corset. Her dress being long sleeved but he noticed that she was without shoes, still with only one earring in and her bracelets on.

            Much like the Festival of Fools, she wrapped a shawl around his neck, a red one this time with black spots, and pulled him close. She did not place a kiss on his nose, ignoring that spot but rather one on his thin lips, taking him entirely by surprise. Due to being in the dark still, she doubted that one had seen the quick exchange. When he backed away, he saw that her emerald eyes were swimming in amusement and he felt the familiar and sour feeling of anger spurring up from the pit of his stomach as she retreated. Only to mess with him. But the feeling was replaced as a horrible one that of loss and sadness took over, causing his heart to squeeze painfully and constricted his breathing, tears blurring his vision. This kiss might have been only but a mere second but it filled him with indescribable joy. But it reminded him of what he lost, what he needed in her. Even after six months of being apart from her, she still haunted him and made him yearn for all that she had to offer.

            He remained in a state of shock for the longest time, completely infatuated in the dance, not being able to tear his gaze from her, feelings spurring but not of that of lust and sexual desires. Something unfamiliar to him. Different, foreign. The dance ended and the crowd departed. The gypsy knelt down to her purple hat now filled to the brim with coins. She didn’t seem to notice him until she eventually looked up. As soon as her emerald eyes met his steel ones, he knew exactly what the feeling was towards the zingara. Love. He… he loved her. All the while, he had been falling for her even if it was only through memories. “You… you kissed me,” he repeated what he said half a year ago. The bohemian nodded.

            “I did kiss you, yes.”

            “Why?”

            “Does it matter?” she asked, seemingly bored with eh conversation and where it was headed.

            Claude found himself with no desire to snap back at the almost snarky remark. She had every right to be upset and he realized that now. “Yes, it does,” he whispered and she rolled her eyes, standing and placing the coins into a pouch attached to her hip. “Esmeralda. It’s been six months since you left when I let you and the first thing you do when you see me is kiss me,” he interrupted her as she was about to say something in response. “And it doesn’t matter if it was for the sake of entertainment or not. It was a kiss on the lips. If you wished to amuse them, you would have kissed my nose like you have done before. Not to mention that we were submerged in darkness and the fact that no one could have saw us to begin with.”

            She became quiet at that before she eventually shook her head. “It was for the sake of the show,” she kept her original story and turned her back, beginning to leave.

            “No. It wasn’t. We both know it wasn’t, Esmeralda. For if it was…” He stopped at that, truly not wanting to allow himself to believe that a reaction as the only reason she kissed him. True, the kiss held no emotion to it. At least, not from her end. He had responded with such ferocity, sorrow, regret, anger but he reckoned that she didn’t notice.

            The gypsy stopped in her tracks but did not turn to face him. “You ask if I feel anything. I hate it. But… yes… I do feel something.”

            It took several moments for Claude to process what she said and when he managed to, it took even longer for him to think coherently, nonetheless, form any words. Esmeralda watched him expectedly, waiting for him to say or do something. Anything. She sighed when he did neither and walked over to him, grabbing his head and kissing him once more. She had to regain her balance as she stumbled when Claude pulled her close, so close that she could feel his heart beating horribly quickly against her chest. She felt him eagerly kiss back, a hand snaking around her neck and resting on the back of her head, holding her still with such a firm grip that she couldn’t leave if she even wanted to. Buts eh found no will to leave. She was content. The zingara whimpered beneath his possessive grasp but couldn’t stop her own heart from beating as fast, perhaps even faster than his. The smile that tugged on the minister’s lips confirmed her suspicions true. He placed a hand on her chest over her heart, causing her to blush a deep red in realization.

            The kiss seemed to last an eternity until he eventually departed for air, seeing how flushed her face truly was. He placed a hand on her cheek, gently running his thumb along it. “Beautiful,” he murmured, a gentle smile resting on his thin lips. Not expecting to hear a compliment from the minister, especially not one directed towards her, caused the blood to rush to her cheeks even more. The smile from Claude and the expression of happiness was slowly replaced with that of regret and deep sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “For everything I’ve done to you. All the shit I’ve put you through. I’m so sorry.”

            “Are you going to ask for pity again?” His hands had moved, interlocking at her lower back, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

            “No. I’m going to ask for your forgiveness. Might I have it, my emerald?”

            “Your emerald?” She arched an eyebrow at the name.

            He nodded. “You will always be mine in my heart even if you are committed to another. But if you choose me, the abuse will stop. The beatings, name callings, torture, starvation… If you forgive me. I will no longer do any of it. I will be yours to control, yours to dominant. Yours to be your slave.”

            “Do you promise it?” she asked hesitantly.

            Another nod. “I swear on God. And that is nothing I take lightly… I swear on my life, my beautiful emerald. If you are with me, you will no longer live in fear.”

            She remained silent in his arms, not a single word spoke between the two for minutes on end as she thought. “You have my forgiveness. You’ve had it for a considerably long amount of time, you know. Remember when I kissed you out of ‘pity’?” She arched a raven eyebrow up at him, her lips forming a grim line. “You’ve had it then and you have it now, Frollo.”

            “Claude,” he corrected her, grimacing at the use of his last name. He despised it due to his family. And the way she uttered it showed a sense of fear, insecurity towards him, uncomfortable to use his Christian name.

            “Claude,” she reiterated and cleared her throat almost nervously. “Claude,” she tested again as if trying to see if she liked the feel of it as it came out of her mouth. However, for the owner of the name, the way it escaped her mouth was pure heaven.

            “Esmeralda,” he whispered her name and pulled her closer still, capturing her lips with his own, a wide smile on his face, his heart fluttering happily for the first time in his life as she yelped his name out of surprise. “Will you stay with me, my emerald?” he asked once they departed. “Will you stay? I promise, I will treat you like gold and better. You will get whatever your heart could possibly desire. You can come and go as you wish. You’ll have no restraints, I promise. Just be mine.” He placed his hands on either side of her face. “And I will be at your every command, every cry. I will protect you, love you, hold you, cherish you.” He brushed his lips on her forehead. “Just be mine.”

            “Yours,” she whispered. “Yours.” The two became quiet, her head resting on his shoulder, her face in his neck. They were silent for a few minutes and she was so still in his arms that he figured for a brief moment that she had actually fallen asleep. “Yours,” she backed away. “I’ll be yours,” she pressed a kiss to his nose and then his lips, filling Claude with such immense joy that he became afraid that his heart could burst at the sheer happiness. God, when was the last time he felt that emotion so greatly? He wasn’t sure but as sure as hell, he loved it and didn’t want it to disappear anytime soon. He would cling onto it for as long as he could… he would cling onto her, the reason for his happiness for as long as he could… the only way she would be able to leave him was when he was dead and even then, he would still haunt her.

            “What are you thinking about?”

            “Nothing,” she lied, seemingly almost afraid to tell him.

            “I’m not going to get angry or upset if that’s what you think,” he murmured. “I promise.”

            She sighed before she began to answer. “I’m thinking if I’m making a right decision. I mean, I believe you when you say you will no longer hurt me and I know that you see the error in your ways but…”

            “If you’re worried about your freedom, you will have it as I said before. I won’t keep you locked up as a prisoner. You are free to come and go whenever you please as long as your remain faithful.”

            She nodded, still in his arms. “I’ll remain faithful, I promise… And I’m not one to go back on my promises,” she whispered and sighed. “I won’t regret this, will I?”

            “Not for an instance,” he shook his head. “I swear on it. You won’t regret it. I’ll do anything and everything to keep you happy, comfortable, loved, warm, as you make me feel whenever I’m around you. Will you trust me? Will you believe me, my emerald?”

            “I believe you,” she nodded and backed away. “I’m a fucking idiot but I forgive you. I believe you… and… and… To Hell with it, I love you.”

            He watched her, staring into her eyes to see if she was telling the truth. His smile came back and he ran over to her, scooping the gypsy up in his arms, kissing her deeply as he held her close to him. “Thank you,” he sighed blissfully. “Thank you, my love. Thank you. Come, let’s get out of the rain.” He released her and took her hand, leading her out of town and towards the Palace of Justice. Esmeralda intertwined her fingers with his and his heart fluttered happily, catching in his throat once she rested her head on his shoulder while they walked. He vowed not only to her but himself. He would be damned to hurt her again. He loved her… Her… His emerald… His Esmeralda.

_You know how_

_Sway me smooth_

_Sway me now_

 


End file.
